It is a truth universally acknowledged that the moment a young girl has read Pride & Prejudice she will eternally lust after a Darcyesque character. Problem is, there is only one Mr Darcy (well 2 if you count Mark Darcy from Bridget Jones Diary who is a direct parody of Austen’s character) and not only is he taken, he’s not even real.
After years of romantic notions of lightning bolts, swooning, too many Hugh Grant movies and thinking that there is “The One” I have come to the conclusion that this may not happen to me.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not being pessimistic. I would love to fall in love and live happily ever after. But my firmly imprinted singleton status, as well as a few drunken evenings alone watching Ally McBeal (Barry White aside – actually a v.depressing show) has left me with the thought that I may just be one of these women who never get married, which means I may never have children (call me old fashioned but no ring – no offspring). 2 years ago, or even 6 months ago after ending the relationship with Mr “I thought he was the one but turns out he was an asshole” this would have given me chills and an anxiety attack.
Today however, I’m not completely against the idea. I’ve accepted the fact that it is an option and have somehow dealt with this in my head in a sensible way that is not like me at all. Many fabulous people have spent their lives alone, like Jane Austen my all time favourite writer. If it happens I’ll have my extended family of friends children and my darling nephews to spoil rotten and also a higher disposable income than most of my friends, so whilst they all start going through divorces and mortgage troubles I can go on holidays to fabulous places and say “Who’s laughing now!”. These are all positive things! I’d have a life of love without any responsibility.
HOWEVER, I was discussing this with my very dear friends Ali & Andre (engaged & expecting but with none of the smug-coupled-up attitude.. LOVE them) suggested that I get a cat for company (giggling to themselves in the process). And then I pictured it… my nephews or my godson not wanting to visit Aunty Ginger because the house smelt like cats. My mind then progressed to the crazy cat lady on The Simpsons. And I am therefore determined to never let this happen.
After all, I don’t even like cats.
dom won't let me get a cat... is it a ginger thing?
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